


Jeeves and the Sticky Situation

by godsdaisiechain (preux)



Series: The Glossop Cure Chronicles [1]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/godsdaisiechain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie finds himself in the deepest soup yet.  Can Jeeves save him?</p><p>For the Queerfest 2012 prompts: Bertie, Aunt Agatha gives Bertie a choice, Marry by the end of the year, or be subjected to Sir Roderick's "cure for sodomites"</p><p>Bertie Wooster/Reginald Jeeves, Jeeves had assumed that Bertie had some experience in sexual matters between men - at the very least, he did go to Eton - but alas not. The first careful steps in their intimate relationship prove... trying.</p><p>At least one of these prompts was by thecat_13145</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nudes and newts

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATED for better chronology and whatnot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie lands in the soup. Newts and Aunt Agatha cause a terribly rummy rannygazoo in the Wooster bedchamber.

**Prologue**

The evening that lay before us promised to be rather sticky in a literal as well as thingummy sense. I was supposed to begin having ‘intimate relations,’ as we had agreed to call it, under the direction of Sir Roderick Glossop.  How mortifying. 

How does Wooster, B constantly tumble into these tureens of bullion?

The rummy circs, as such r. c.s often are in the life of Bertram Wilberforce Wooster, had been caused by the intercession of my fire-breathing Aunt Agatha, the a. who demands human sacrifice under the light of the full moon and routinely partakes of ground glass and razor blades.

She had taken it into her head that nephew Bertie was a sodomite. As I had avoided assidu-thingummy any such experience of that nature, the sitch was dashed unfair.  

But sometimes unfairness has its consolations.

 

**Some weeks earlier**

I was at Brinkley Court having been yanked from the arms of Morpheus in a most brutal fashion. The bottle-eating Aunt A had swelled to three times her usual girth with the wrath of a dragon-eating thing and bellowed like a mammoth in a primeval bedroom.

“You should be breeding children!  We have flung so many eligible girls at you… Honoria Glossop, Madeline Bassett, Roberta Wickham, Lady Florence, that American girl Stoker… the list is endless.  You have proven to be nothing but an idle drone, and now this!”

‘This’ was the most unwelcome discovery in the Wooster sleeping chamber of a nude Gussie Fink-Nottle.  He had been borrowing my bathtub since his own was full of newts.  Bertram was abed sleeping during this incursion, and Aunt A. had biffed into the s.c. just as Gussie was lifting the covers to ascertain the location of his prized newt, Eric.

The resulting explosion propelled Bertram from the bed in an instant.

Explanations and protestations were for naught. Aunt Agatha was not to be appeased. Gussie, lucky sod, was wrapped back into his toweling robe and then turned over to his wife. Emerald Fink-Nottle looked stern as billy-o in front of Aunt A. but commenced lavishing Gussie with concerned affection as soon as they were out of her line of vision. This left Bertram all alone, quailing before an Aunt A too furious to shout. “This is enough, Bertie," she hissed. "You will marry by the end of the year, or I will send you to Sir Roderick Glossop for his sodomite cure.”

The icy horror that coursed through the willowy frame is not to be described.  Words just cannot capture it.  It was as if an army of battle penguins had poured down the spine, throwing little daggers of ice throughout the slender corpus.

I clenched the teeth to keep them from chattering and managed to stiffen the upper lip just long enough for her to sweep from the room.

It was the work of a moment to rush into the mercifully Fink-Nottle-free bath and expel the contents of the Wooster stomach, the bean buzzing like a hive of hysterical bees. Whatever was I going to do? The insides curled up at the thought of touching a beazel in that way, let alone having to give up my piano, Rex Stout and all my friends.

I had heaved past the point of extreme discomfort and curled up in a ball of misery when a gentle sound, like a sheep coughing discreetly on a distant hillside, marked the most welcome entry of my man, Jeeves.

“If I may, sir?” He shimmered over, levering the corpus up, and helped me rinse the unpleasant taste from my mouth.  In a moment, I was in the easy chair, equipped with robe, slippers, lap blanket, and a b. and s.

“Did you hear, Jeeves?”  The voice wobbled tremulo-thingy.

“Not distinctly, sir. I have taken the liberty of packing.” He indicated his suitcase, and mine.  “The car will be out front in a few minutes.”

I sucked down the b and s. but there was no comfort to be had in it. As I unburdened self of the grim and sordid tale of Fink-Nottle and the escaped newt, Eric, the Jeevesian visage went grey. “Oh, sir,” he gasped.  Everyone had heard the stories about what they did to sodomites, I supposed.  I could have wailed, but stiffened the u. l. instead.  One must appear worthy of the Eton and Oxford heritage.   

Normally Wooster attempts to approach these little things with aplomb and dignity, but suddenly the a. and d. were sadly absent. “I cannot possibly marry…. Oh, Jeeves, whatever am I going to do?” The voice wobbled precariously.

The J. v. relaxed from its usual professional expression and adopted a look of kind concern. “I will make some inquiries, sir. Will you trust to my discretion in this matter?” 


	2. Bump in the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves is awakened by a bump in the night.

I had settled Mr. Wooster into his bed with a mystery novel and fallen asleep after a rather tiring day at Brinkley Court. No one should have disturbed me, and therefore I reacted rather violently when Mr. Seppings shook me awake around midnight.

“None of that war stuff, Reggie. It’s me, Seppings.” The butler was deeply distressed. "Your young master needs you." The heart froze in my chest. I was out of the bed and pulling on my clothes before he had finished speaking.

“Is Mr. Wooster unwell? Is he injured?” An edge of panic crept into my tone and the butler smiled and squeezed my shoulder fondly. Mr. Wooster was an especial favorite with Mr. Seppings.

“You’ll make something of him yet. No, he’s not hurt. It’s Lady Worplesdon screaming fit to be tied. You’d better pack up and I’ll rouse one of the lads to get the car out.  Just get him away before the whole house is roused.” 

I threw my things into the suitcase carelessly. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Mr. Fink-Nottle was in his room and she cut up a terrible fuss. He was using the bath and she got the wrong idea.”

I stifled a groan.  Mr. Fink-Nottle had long been highly inappropriate in his visits to Mr. Wooster’s room. I threw the last of my possessions into the bag and snapped it shut.  “I will have him downstairs as soon as he is dressed.”

By the time I reached Mr. Wooster’s room, Lady Worplesdon was speaking in an inaudible, and very angry, hiss. I stepped into a convenient doorway and allowed her to sweep by without seeing me. Mr. Wooster was vomiting when I entered and had curled up into a small ball on the floor of the bathroom by the time I reached him. I have long been very fond of Mr. Wooster, and I had to resist the urge to gather him in my arms and hold him until he stopped whimpering. I helped him up, squeezing his shoulder more than strictly necessary, and assisted him in rinsing his mouth. While I hurriedly packed his things, he explained that Lady Worplesdon had issued an ultimatum: either he must marry or undergo a cure for inverts.

I felt myself grow pale as I realized what his marriage would mean, not simply the loss of a kind, generous employer, but also of a great portion of my heart.  Whatever was I going to do if I lost him? Then he spoke the most welcome words. “I cannot possibly marry…. Oh, Jeeves, whatever am I going to do?”

My heart relaxed as my duty became clear.  We managed to get downstairs without seeing another soul except Mr. Seppings. I will never forget the look of fear and misery on Mr. Wooster’s face as we pulled away from the house. It took every ounce of fortitude I had not to place a reassuring hand on his knee as I drove.

 


	3. The cure for inverts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves finds a way to save Bertie from the soup. But is the cure worse than the soup?

Gussie was frightfully apologetic and Emerald dispatched a choice collection of her home-cooked viands, but still the threat looming over the head rankled like a bally ticking bomb. Wooster remained battered and sore in spirit. One kept up a cheerful appearance at the Drones but it was much more of an effort than usual. I had not considered how tiresome it was to idle about the place all day batting at dinner rolls with tennis racquets and flipping cards at top hats.

Jeeves spent the time shimmering about like a ministering angel, forking over plates of my favorite foods to stimulate the failing appetite and even voluntarily playing popular tunes on the piano. Yet Wooster was neck-deep in the soup and nothing seemed to comfort. Jeeves began to look a bit strained about the edges and Wooster began to despair.

I arrived home one evening to find Sir Roderick Glossop installed on the Chesterfield enjoying a glass of lemon squash. “Ah, Mr. Wooster,” he greeted me warmly, as had been his habit since the day I helped him cover up the details of his unfortunate arrest. “I understand you have a problem and are in need of some discreet help.”

“Sir Roderick. I do hate to bother you.” I stammered, poking a toe at the carpet and blushing. “It…I never, in fact, but… you see…”

“Not to worry, young man. There is a new experimental cure for young men with inclinations to be with other young men. You can even take your treatments at home at your convenience rather than at the clinic. You may feel improved in only a few years.” 

The bean spun and reeled as Sir Roderick explained further. I was to take as much of intimate contact as I liked. With Jeeves, who stood, seemingly impassive, while Sir Roderick specified that we should limit things to once or twice daily at first before increasing our contact as needful. I stammered and blushed and Sir Roderick wrote out a prescription to justify proceedings, handing the sheet to Jeeves. If Jeeves was unable to help me, then I would have to go into the clinic for intimate contact with someone else.

The insides froze in horror at the thought.

Once the eminent loony doctor had clomped out of the flat, I collapsed onto the chesterfield, pale and shaking, the willowy form taking on the color and consistency of a limp noodle.

“Jeeves?”  On the one hand, being with Jeeves was my wildest fantasy, but on the other, I felt as if I were being pursued by ravening beasts bent on molding me like a jelly. Aside from our working relationship, I hardly knew Jeeves. I wanted to kiss him, certainly, and perhaps investigate the look of his corpus under the raiment, but it was not the done thing.

The Jeevesian visage took on a look I had never seen before. “I made inquiries and it seemed the best, the gentlest, way, sir. The other options were, I found, highly unsatisfactory for a gentleman of your description.”

I shook myself. “Surely this is well beyond the usual.... I do not want you to feel obligated to do such a thing. It is terribly not preux.”

“It will be an honor, sir,” he said, flushing a bit and shimmering from the room. He floated back with the soda bottle and a refreshing b and s materialized by my hand.  Jeeves then commenced to biffing about the place setting all to rights.

“Would you draw the drapes and come and sit with me?” I asked timidly.

He paused, mid-tidy. “Sir?”

“I, that is, Jeeves, I feel dashed awkward with you standing there. Will you?”

He gave me that strange look again. “Of course, sir.” He shimmered about, closing the drapes and straightening a cushion or two and then sat beside me. I resisted a sudden urge to crawl into his lap and bury my face in his shoulder.

“Jeeves, I must be honest. I have never…”

He started. “Never? Oh, sir. I did not fully understand.” 

I shook the fair head. “No, Jeeves. Never. But I must be honest.  I have long had a yen... If that shocks or offends, then we can find another way.”

Jeeves reached out and took my paw and held it in both of his. I felt rather small suddenly. “Sir, please do not be concerned. It is an honor, truly.”

Another difficulty assailed the already flustered Wooster brain. “Jeeves, I say. Do you know how to, well? I have no dashed idea.”

The strange look on the Jeevesian visage grew almost rummy. “Please do not worry yourself, sir.” He looked strange again, and the Wooster hand was squeezed in his tender grip. “May I kiss you?” I could feel myself flush pinker than an offending tie, but I nodded.  He eased closer and brushed the side of my face with his fingers, then leaned in carefully and pressed his lips against mine. A small noise sounded in the back of the Wooster throat. Jeeves cupped the back of my head in a hand as the lips slackened, and we eased together, tasting each other. The feel of his tongue in my mouth turned the world upside down for this Wooster.

Then I sensed him holding himself back, waiting for me to relax. I felt a stir, more of a tumult really, in the region of my trousers and pulled away nervously.  I felt like a schoolgirl and with a great effort refrained from giggling.

“That was rather topping, Jeeves.” I gasped. He pressed his forehead to the side of my head and struggled to catch his breath.

“Yes, sir, very pleasurable.”  He kneaded the back of my neck and I made an involuntary noise of enjoyment.

“Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Am I supposed to be shaking like this?”

Jeeves considered his own hand, which was trembling like an aspen.  “I confess, sir, that I seem to be trembling much more than I would have anticipated.”

Oddly enough, I immediately felt more boomps-a-daisy. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, sir.  Might I take the liberty?”

“Oh.  Yes, Jeeves.”  He folded me into his manly embrace and brushed the lips against mine again. This time he was more careful, pulling back from time to time to keep an eye on the young master. He touched the dial gently each time he pulled back. It was bally marvelous. Then Jeeves paused and pressed me firmly against his chest.

He was very strong and muscular and, suddenly, I felt nearly overwhelmed by his closeness and the considerable stirring in my trousers.  Jeeves was so much smarter than Wooster. It was already terrible for me when we experienced a coldness. What would happen if I fell in love with him?

“Sir?” Jeeves stroked my hair and squeezed me tight. “Perhaps we should prepare you for bed.” The teeth chattered in the Wooster bean and I clung to him like a frightened barnacle. “Sir?” The Jeevesian voice betrayed worry and I mustered self together.

“I am not... that is, Jeeves, ah...”

“Perhaps we should defer more intimate relations for a week and in the interim we can become more used to the idea.”

I could have collapsed with relief. “Jeeves, you are a marvel.  That brain! Thank-you. Thank-you so very much.”  Another thought infiltrated the teeming brain. “Perhaps I should get undressed myself tonight.”

“Of course, sir.” I sat on the bed, quaking in every limb while he shimmered about, setting out our coral pajamas. Once or twice I saw him adjust the straining Jeevesian trousers when he thought I wasn’t looking.  He had set everything to rights and was about to ooze out the door. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Thank-you, Jeeves. It was topping.” I expected him to depart, but he shimmered back over to my side. I looked up questioningly, and he stroked the side of my face, that rummy look still plastered over his dial.

“Good-night, sir.”

“Good-night, Jeeves.”  He oiled out the door.

 


	4. The gentlest way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves determines the best cure for Mr Wooster.

Mr. Wooster visibly struggled to keep up a cheerful appearance over the next weeks. I did everything I could think of to improve his spirits, but nothing seemed to comfort him.

Meanwhile, I made inquiries and the information I gathered filled me with horror. The thought of kind, generous Mr. Wooster subjected to electric shocks on his intimate regions or given harsh drugs was not to be born, and I quietly secured his money from encroachments and made arrangements to bring him to Paris. I chanced to encounter Sir Roderick’s butler at my club and learned that the doctor was in London for the week. Out of desperation, I went to consult with the eminent psychiatrist.

Sir Roderick was very kindly disposed toward Mr. Wooster and myself because we had helped him in a situation of some delicacy. Sir Roderick had been arrested due to a local superstition while he was dressed as a minstrel. My intervention had caused the charges against him to be dismissed.   

Fortunately, Sir Roderick did not condone harsh measures when treating inverts. He called at the flat and explained his theories.

“Torturing them is cruel, Jeeves. I believe that they should have as much of the forbidden pleasure as possible, even slightly too much, until they see the error of their ways.” The conversation grew somewhat uncomfortable when I explained that there had been rather a serious misunderstanding. Sir Roderick listened to the information I had been able to gather and then regarded me silently for a long moment. “You seem very dedicated to Mr. Wooster, Jeeves.  I realize that this is far beyond the usual scope of a valet’s responsibility, but it appears to me that by far the ideal person to help him would be yourself.”

I nearly started. “Sir? I do not understand.”

“It would ruin his reputation unnecessarily if he were to openly enter into treatment.  I realize it may be distasteful to you, but it would be a huge service to Mr. Wooster if you would see to him privately.”

I was completely nonplussed.  I had long desired Mr. Wooster, but likely, it would be merely a matter of convenience to him. Steeling myself against the possibility that my heart would be broken, I agreed to help. 

Sir Roderick gave me a searching look. He seemed highly satisfied.  “I believe you can be trusted not to harm him. I will explain as delicately as possible, and you are to proceed very slowly with him. It will not do to distress him further in his current state.”

“I understand, sir.”

Mr. Wooster was highly embarrassed when Sir Roderick explained the plan. Mr. Wooster blushed and stammered most piteously as Sir Roderick explained the possible consequences of not adhering to the regimen assigned. My poor young master gave me a look of undisguised horror when he heard that he might be required to have intimate contact with strangers should I fail to help.  Sir Roderick seemed reassured by Mr. Wooster’s reactions and left me a page of instructions as he left the flat.

Mr. Wooster fell onto the Chesterfield, shaking and pale, but bravely trying to keep up his cheerful appearance. I felt an upwelling of tender affection for him. “I made inquiries and it seemed the best, the gentlest, way, sir. The other options were, I found, highly unsatisfactory for a gentleman of your description. I do hope you are not offended or upset.”

Mr. Wooster exhibited his customary generosity and delicacy by concentrating on my possible feelings of discomfort. My heart melted at his thoughtfulness and the uncertain way he asked me to sit with him. I sat, resisting the urge to gather him in my lap and press his head against my shoulder. “Jeeves, I must be honest. I have never….” My mind reeled. Mr. Wooster was a virgin.  I had not thought it possible.  He had attended Eton, after all. 

“Never?” I gasped in consternation. What had I done? “Oh, sir. I did not fully understand.” Then Mr. Wooster confessed to his feelings of desire for me. I thought my heart would burst with tenderness for him. I took his hand and then I kissed him.

It was miraculous. 

His response to my lips on his was immediately in every way gratifying. I had never experienced such an open expression of affection with a man about whom I truly cared. My passion threatened to overwhelm me, and Mr. Wooster pulled himself back, moving to adjust his trousers.  He pronounced our kissing to be “topping."  

He then permitted me to take him in my arms and kiss him again.  I was nearly overcome by my tender emotions, and I found myself pausing again and again to reassure myself that the experience was real.  It felt deeply luxurious to be able to stroke his cheek and look into his eyes and see the light of trust and what I dearly hoped was affection there. He responded with an innocent eagerness that warmed my soul. I felt Mr. Wooster begin to tremble almost violently and held him tightly. I felt quite unsteady myself and selfishly suggested that we defer any further activities for a week until we could adjust to this change. He expressed himself with enthusiastic gratitude. Mr. Wooster was still visibly uneasy as I laid out the coral pajamas and I could not resist touching his dear face one last time before I retired for the night.

 

 


	5. The sticky evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves shows Bertie how things are done. Bertie finds out what Jeeves has been thinking.

We did not speak of our agreement again for some days. In the interim, I locked Jeeves out of the bathroom and dressed and undressed myself. Choice viands had been as dust and ashes in the Wooster mouth, and Jeeves had become so worried that he even laid out some purple socks for me to wear, although only in the flat.

On the evening in question, I had poked a listless fork at a lovely dinner and even the purple socks were little comfort.

“Sir? Would you wish to defer matters?”

I rolled this over the bean. “No, Jeeves,” I said tremulously. “I am merely somewhat apprehensive. Is that the word I want?”

“I believe so, sir. Would you like to retire to the bedroom? I have set out the things we will need.”

Anxious thoughts assailed the lemon. What if he found the willowy form displeasing? Would it hurt? I mustered up an appearance of sangfroid. In the bedroom, I found a set of really fruity new heliotrope pajamas. In any other circ.s, I would have been chuffed, but I only felt a sort of hollow ache. I donned the p.s and climbed between the sheets. Jeeves shimmered in a few moments later in his nightclothes, which were a rather staid grey. He had rinsed out his hair, which gave him a more rakish look than usual. “May I, sir?”

“Yes, of course, Jeeves.” He oozed between the sheets, that strange look on his dial again. We looked at each other and Wooster resisted the urge to curl up in a whimpering ball. 

“Sir, you appear somewhat distressed. We can certainly …”

“No, we cannot, Jeeves.  I couldn’t bear to have anyone else.”  That rummy look flashed across his lemon again and I mustered up the strength to ask the question. “Will it hurt, Jeeves?” The Jeevesian mouth flapped open in sudden understanding.

“Oh, sir. No. Of course not.” The tone was very gentle. He reached out and took my hand, then he leaned over and touched my dial. “Would you permit me?”

I nodded. He slipped an arm about the slender waist and pulled me against him. The W. back was rubbed and I nestled more closely. As I relaxed, he bent to press the lips together. The tongues were tangled much as before, but the bodies pressed together more firmly. He ran his hands up and down the W. back, and I clung to him like a drowning man. I felt a stir in the heliotrope pajamas and an answering stir in the grey. We moved together, kissing, for what seemed like hours. I rubbed against him, tentatively at first, but becoming more eager in my movements. Then Jeeves gripped me with somewhat more urgency, I pulled away, stifling a squeak. It was getting terribly late and we were both shaking like fever victims.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“It appears…” Jeeves groaned suddenly and curled over, leaning the bean on my shoulder. I clapped a hand on the back of his head where it stuck out to hold his brains.

“Jeeves? My word, Jeeves. What is the matter?”

“I apologize, sir. I will be better directly.”

I was beside myself. “Jeeves! I say, whatever is the matter?”

“It is nothing, sir.” He muttered from the W. shoulder, a shudder running through his frame.

“Jeeves, I must insist…”

“I am experiencing some discomfort.”

The bean whirled for a moment then I noticed where he was clutching himself. “Oh! I am dashed sorry, Jeeves. Is there anything I can do for you?”

He paused thoughtfully, as though he was remembering something very important about the young master.  I was thoroughly engrossed with his discomfort, rubbing the back of the Jeevesian head and patting his shoulder. “I believe so, sir.” He pulled back the covers and unbuttoned his pajama trousers, releasing his manly bits. They were extremely impressive. Then he took my hand and rubbed it against him. I exclaimed in awe. I could not believe how wonderful he looked and felt and I glanced back up at him in my excitement. He nodded, eyes twinkling. I touched him almost reverently and he relaxed with a deep sigh. “Ah. Thank-you sir.”

“You’re bally impressive,” I said wonderingly. “And your skin is so soft.” He groaned and closed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “This is quite topping, Jeeves. Quite topping indeed.”

The strange expression parked itself on his dial again. “Thank-you, sir, if you would be so kind.” He opened a jar of some type of jelly and had me smooth it on him. “Oh, thank-you, sir,” he sighed. I investigated his personal terrain with a great deal of enthusiastic interest. He was absolutely lovely, simply corking, and I found myself watching his reactions intently and making little exclamations of excitement as he moved.  It took two hands to cover all the bits that appeared in need of stroking, and he lay, with his eyes closed and head thrown back, responding eagerly to my touch. He was so bally marvelous that it was almost disappointing when he let out a low moan and climaxed, mussing the grey pajamas.  He lay, gasping and then reached up and touched my face. “Oh, sir, thank-you.”

“You are just lovely, Jeeves.” I wanted to hold him, but my hands had become rather sticky during proceedings. “Did you like… was it all right?”

“You were wonderful, sir. I left a towel…” He had left several. I selected one that was damp and still warm. He had thought of everything.

“You think of everything.”

He let his mouth quirk up at a corner. “I wanted this to be a pleasant experience for you, sir. I tried to consider your comfort.”

“It is bally topping, Jeeves. Just wonderful. I cannot thank you enough.”  He seemed to swell with some emotion.

I helped him remove the now-sticky grey pajamas and wiped him with the towel. Then he let me look at him naked, which was topping and caused a considerable stir in the Wooster pajamas. He was beautiful. Muscular and handsome, with lovely dark hair on his chest and legs and around his manly parts.  He let me touch his chest, which was bally marvelous.  I kept looking up at him, eager to share the excitement I felt and he looked at me in that strange way, and stroked my hair. “Thank-you so much for letting me touch you and look at you like this. You are just so smashingly handsome.” My pajamas were straining a fair bit and I was starting to feel bally uncomfortable.

“Sir, may I?” He reached for me, and I eased down and kissed him again. “Thank-you, sir.  I have wanted this, for so long.”

Wooster was nonplussed. “Jeeves?”

“It is difficult to be open about such matters, but you are very desirable, sir.” I suddenly could not decide where to look. “Would you permit me to see to you now?”

I grew embarrassed. “I never, Jeeves, and I am not sure…”

The Jeevesian tone grew gentle again. “Sir, please. I do not like to see you straining so uncomfortably. We can extinguish the light if you prefer.”  

He gently rubbed the straining portion of the heliotrope pajamas, then unbuttoned a few buttons. I blushed as he uncovered me. “Oh, sir,” he breathed as I burst out from the heliotrope silk, sighing in relief. I thought I would explode from the sheer pleasure of it. He tended to me beautifully, kissing the bean and keeping up a steady murmur as I shamelessly grunted and wriggled against him. As I climaxed, he held me tight while I clutched at him. I’m not sure how he did this, but I was naked and clean and pressed up against him under the covers before you could say billy-o.

“Jeeves?” I was still trembling, and he pressed me close.

‘Yes, sir?”

“Will you stay here with me tonight?”

“I would be most happy to do so, sir.” The strange look plastered itself across his dial. “Are you ready to continue or would you like to defer our further amorous activities until tomorrow?”

“Further?  You mean there is more?”

“Yes, sir.” He smiled, a real, open, affectionate smile.  I nearly melted. “There is more.”

“Rather! But, Jeeves, would you? I don’t wish to pry, of course, but.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you feel comfortable telling me your given name?”

He chuckled and gave me an affectionate squeeze. “Reginald… Reg, sir.”

“Reg? I do like that. Would you consider calling me Bertie?”

He paused and exhibited his stuffed frog face. “But…that would be not my place, sir.”

The Wooster insides curled uncomfortably. “Oh,” I said in a small voice. I had misunderstood something.

I started to pull away, but he held onto me, and gently stroked the hair from my face. “Please, sir.”  Then he leaned forward and kissed me, his face soft again. “I did not mean to wound your feelings. It is simply not my place.”

I blurted out the question suddenly preying on the Wooster heart and mind. "Do you like me?”  Jeeves looked for a moment like a man who had been biffed on the bean with a halibut of substantial size.

"Yes, sir.  I do like you." He gathered the willowy form closely against him and bent his head over mine, rubbing his face against my hair. “In fact, I am extremely fond of you, sir,” he murmured, gently snuggling me against his manly chest. I sighed and rubbed up against him. “Extremely fond of you. Please have no doubts whatsoever about my affectionate regard for you.”

“I am quite fond of you, too, Jeeves.” I nestled against him quite happily. “You really are quite toppingly beautiful.”

He flushed. “Thank-you, sir.  I find you to be very attractive as well.” The strange look came out again.

“Jeeves, I cannot tell what that look means.”

He blushed deeply. “I am feeling an upwelling of affection for you, sir.”

“An upwelling of affection?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But you have looked like that almost all evening.”

“Yes, sir.  I have felt quite tenderly affectionate toward you tonight.”

I was nearly overcome. He had been feeling an upwelling of affection for me throughout the whole proceedings. The eyes filled and I wrapped the willowy arms about his neck and rested the bean against him and let him tousle the hair and kiss the top of the head.  He stroked the Wooster back meditatively. His eyes drooped and his hand stilled and he started awake. “Let’s turn out the lights, then.”

We snuggled together in the darkness and the Jeevesian lips found mine.

“Will you stay all night?”

“Of course, if you wish it.” He took a deep breath as if bracing himself for a task requiring great strength of will. “Bertie.”

Tears stung the peepers as the heart swelled. “Oh, thank-you, Reg. Thank-you for everything. This was the most perfect…I could not imagine anything better.”

He was much moved, I could tell, judging by the way he nestled me against him. “Nor could I.”

“And there is more, you say?”

“Indeed, there is.”


	6. What Jeeves thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie thinks he knows what Jeeves was thinking...but does he?

Mr. Wooster’s anxiety seemed to increase as the days passed, and I felt that some overture was necessary. It was a desperate measure, but I laid out his purple socks, althought only to wear in the flat.

I had carefully considered all the things that would be needful for Mr. Wooster to have a pleasant experience, or so I thought.  I could have curled up in mortification when he suddenly burst out. “Will it hurt, Jeeves?”

Mr. Wooster had been ready trashy romance novels, some of which described the loss of virginity in almost gruesome terms. Sadly, his past experiences with me had also shown that I was capable of witnessing his pain with apparent equanimity. I took his hand and rested my palm against his pinched and anxious face. “Please do not be worried.”

He nodded, not meeting my eyes and I indulged myself by gathering him into a close embrace and rubbing his back until he relaxed against me with a comfortable sigh. Then I bent my head to kiss him. He was simply luscious. Mr. Wooster responded with a natural innocence to his feelings of arousal, rubbing himself against me until I became quite inflamed, then drawing back. I felt awash with the most delicious feelings and then I began to experience a novel form of extreme discomfort in my most personal regions.  I realized that I might have to excuse myself, and was just broaching the subject when a wave of pain caused me to lean my head against Mr. Wooster’s shoulder.

His concern was immediate and genuine, and I realized that he had never seen me undressed.  With some trepidation, I unbuttoned my pajama trousers and encouraged him to touch me.

Mr. Wooster’s response was far more gratifying than I could have imagined. He looked up repeatedly in his garrulous way, eager to share his cheerful excitement at this new experience.  His touch was deeply arousing, and he kept up a stream of happy language as he described his feelings. The words “impressive,” “topping” and “corking” were used repeatedly. He investigated my intimate regions with due attention and delicacy.  I had to close my eyes to maintain control as he used both hands to explore. I climaxed almost ecstatically and nearly burst out laughing when he expressed anxiety about his performance. His expressions of thanks seemed almost out of place, so deeply had I enjoyed his attentions.

I allowed him to investigate my unclothed form for some minutes, until he began to appear strained and uncomfortable. Gathering him back into my arms, I expressed my own thanks and confessed to my feelings of longing for him.  

It took some coaxing before Mr. Wooster was willing to let me touch him intimately, but he responded eagerly, pressing his face against my shoulder and thrusting into my hand with his hips.  I clasped him tightly against me as he shuddered and released, and then tended to him quickly so that I could take him in my arms and feel his skin against mine.  When he asked me to stay with him overnight, I let my reserve drop fully for the first time in our long association.

Then he asked me to call him by his given name. I could have kicked myself when I heard the wounded tone of his voice and saw the upset on his dear face at my reflexive expression of doubt. Then he asked, “Do you like me?”

I had thought I understood my feelings of tenderness for Mr. Wooster, but that plaintive question nearly broke my heart.  I curled up around his slender form, nuzzling his head and assuring him of my affectionate regard.  He responded happily, nestling against me in an endearingly affectionate way.  My look of fondness seemed to puzzle him, and he reached up to stroke my cheek.

“Jeeves, I cannot tell what that look means.”

I felt myself blush deeply. “I am feeling an upwelling of affection for you, sir.”

Mr. Wooster paused, deeply confused. “An upwelling of affection?”

I stroked his hair and kissed his forehead while he considered this information. “Yes, sir.”

He let his hand drop against my chest. “But you have looked like that almost all evening.”

I felt myself nodding, my eyes twinkling at him. “Yes, sir.  I have felt quite tenderly affectionate toward you tonight.”

The joyous expression on Mr. Wooster’s face nearly brought me to tears. 

“Oh, thank-you, Reg. Thank-you for everything. This was the most perfect…I could not imagine anything better.”  I gathered him closely in my arms and assured him that I agreed, even though I suspected that we would learn to pleasure each other more fully in time. 

I shudder to think what Sir Roderick would have made of our encounter.

 


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Glossop Cure has some unintended effects

About two weeks after consulting with Bertie Wooster, Sir Roderick Glossop entered his wife’s apartment as she was preparing for bed.  “Roderick? Are you well?”

“Yes, my dear, I am quite well.”

“You look somewhat flushed, Roderick.”

Sir Roderick smiled.  “I have been thinking, my dear, about the first time we were intimate together. I was so concerned about the delicacy of your feelings that I nearly forgot how much I wanted you.”

Lady Glossop flushed.  “Roderick!”

“It’s no use flushing, my dear.  It will not change matters. I’d like to stay with you tonight, though.”

A smile suffused Lady Glossop’s countenance. “Of course, you may, darling.  Might I ask what brought those feelings to mind?”

“Just a recent case, my dear.”

Later that night, as Lady Glossop nestled sleepily in his arms, Sir Roderick glanced at the edge of a telegram that was poking out of the pocket of his dinner jacket.

 

**_Have gone abroad._ **

**_Cure is going well._ **

**_With profound thanks._ **

**_J & W_ **


End file.
